User blog:Leea/The Tale of Voronwe, Chapter 8
Previous Chapters 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th The Tale of Voronwe, Chapter 8 4th Era 100, 23rd of First Seed, Pyandonea His booted feet made only the softest whisper on the damp tile floor. As he made his way through the palace, he passed by many of the Royal Guard at attention; only the slightest rise and fall of their chests indicating that they were in fact living Elves, not statues. Walking to the set of double doors that led to the throne room, he paused to show his crest to the Guardsmen barring the way. Glancing only briefly at the sigil, they each grabbed a handle and stepped aside as one, opening the door. Approaching the raised dias, he kneeled before the King. "My King," he intoned, his silky voice clear in the misty room. Orgnum looked down at his chief assassin. "You have come at last, Markadil. Rise." Coming to his feet, Markadil replied, "I came as soon as I was summoned." Placing an arm on one of the armrests of the elaborately carved wood throne, Orgnum absent mindedly felt the jewels and engravings of his crown as he gazed at the assassin. "Not as soon. You were delayed," he stated, his rich baritone betraying just the slightest hint of displeasure. "Yes. I had gotten new intelligence of the traitor's whereabouts, my Leige," Markadil replied. Having known the King for two centuries, he was past being frightened of the tones in the King's voice. The only thing that scared him any more was losing his job, most prominently, to his chief rival, a much younger Elf named Orthendar, who was a member of another of the King's guilds, the Sea Vipers, the pirate's guild. To be sure, Orthendar was good at what he did, but there was something to be said for never having any official training in the stealth arts. Still fingering his crown, which was crafted of the finest blue coral and set with inumerable shades of opal, Orgnum gazed at his assassin. "And it was..." The King's voice was so slow, so languid, it would seem to the casual observer that he was bored with the conversation. Markadil knew it to be anything but, however. "Our spies have found the traitor. He has found refuge on the island of Summerset." Rage tinted Orgnum's flawlessly white eyes reddish. His hand dropping from his crown, he sat up straighter in the throne. "Were the spies able to ascertain if he has spoken with anyone?" he asked, anger now causing a slight tremble in his voice. Markadil's head bowed. "They did not know, my Lord. If he has spoken to anyone, they are keeping the information quietly to themselves." Orgnum's eyelids fluttered while he gritted his teeth. "Has he contacted the Aldmeri Dominion?" he asked again, his fingers gripping the highly polished wood of the throne, making the muscles in his arms stand out. Markadil bowed his head low. "Not that we know my Lord. They only saw him drift onto the Northern beaches of the main isle." "The deserted beaches?" "Yes, my King." Orgnum's muscels relaxed, and his soft white hands released their grip of the armrests. Looking over the head of his assassin, he considered his next move. Balasian was intelligent and quick-witted, and adept at most weaponry and spellcraft, a reminder of his having been both the captain of the Harbor Guard and a member of the Hydromancers, the royal battlemage guild. What was more, Balasian's grandfather had also had lofty ideals concerning the other races of the world, but he had been removed from the scene with a terribly unfortunate "accident" before he could gain any followers. He had hoped that the grandfather's ideas had not rubbed off on the grandson, but he had been mistaken. Worse, the King remembered, Balasian had preached his "morals" to deluded folk behind his Lord's back and had gathered a significant following, and had been brazen enough to attempt to convince him of these "morals" as well. With his training as his King's then-to-be translator, Balasian knew and spoke fluently the languages of all the continents, so he could seek asylum anywhere, were he to abandon Summerset. The risk was too great to declare open war on the Aldmeri Dominion for an Elf that, for all he knew, they did not know they harbored. He must be dealt with swiftly and silently. Bringing his gaze back to Markadil, he said, "Markadil, we have known each other for a long time, and you have been my chief assassin for two centuries now. You have been of great service to me, but now you will have the greatest contract of your career: you must infiltrate Summerset Isle and permanently silence the traitor to our country. Use any means necessary, but without attention to yourself." Bowing his head, Markadil replied, "Yes, my Lord. It will be done as you request," his pleasure obvious in each word. Kneeling to the throne once more, he got up and was leaving the room when Orgnum's voice came from behind. "Remember, Markadil: If you fail me, I will remove you from your post in a most unpleasant manner, and it will be filled by one of your rivals. Orthendar will do nicely." Turning to face the King, his black robe swirling around his body with the movement, he met Orgnum's eyes across the room. They betrayed only the smallest hint of hostility. "Have I ever dissapointed you before?" The smallest of smiles played about Orgnum's full lips. "Balasian is not like your other contracts." Trying not to betray his thoughts, the assassin attempted to keep his face straight. Yes, he was different. So what? He had killed dissenters before. Unless....unless his King already doubted his decision to send him on this mission. Something must have showed in his face, however, because Orgnum's smile grew. Leaning forward from his formerly relaxed pose, he said, "Remember that he was in the Harbor Guard and the Hydromancers. He is a powerful opponent." A shadow of anger danced in his eyes, though the small smile remained. "You have your work cut out for you. Unless... you can't do it..." he stated, his gracefull eyebrows arching up his forehead in mock surprise. "No, my Lord. I always do my best for you." Leaning back into the throne, Orgnum leasurely rolled his neck and fixated his gaze on Markadil. "I expect nothing less," he stated, as his eyes burned into the assassin. Markadil felt as if his skin was being touched with the hottest rays of the summer sun. 200 years ago, when he was appointed head assassin, Markadil feared and respected the King of Pyandonea with equal measure. The look in Orgnum's eye and the sensation creeping across his skin stirred up some of these long-abandoned fears. The King gestured with his hand. "You're dismissed." * * * Muttering under his breath as he left the palace, his fears and the burning sensation caused by Orgnum's stare fading with each step, Markadil went to the Sea Serpents headquarters to prepare for the journey. Various members of the guild saluted their headmaster as he walked past, but he was too deep in thought to aknowledge the salutes properly. Reaching his quarters, which were at the top level of the four story building, he stopped abruptly in the doorway, his cloak swirling about his lean form. Something was amiss. There were no sounds or smells different from when he had left this morning, yet he could sense otherwise that something was different. A not good different. A dangerous different. Quietly, he scanned his surroundings, though nothing appeared to be out of place. The door was still latched, the door mat in its accustomed dead center of the doorway, the condensation on the window to the right. Resolving to deal with whatever this was, whether nerves or something else, he silently drew his dagger from its sheath at his hip, in case it was something physical, and cast an invisibility spell as he opened the door. Category:Blog posts